
LOYAL MOUNTAINEERS: 



The Guerrilla's Doom. 



A WAE DRAMA, 

HARDSHIPS, SUFFERINGS, A] 
E UNIONISTS OF EAST TEN* 

FOUNDED ON PACTS. 

By 
J. N. CULVER, 

Under the Auspices of Baidy Smith Post No, 20, Dept. of Vt., 

AND 

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC 



I. A. MORTON, PRINTER. 

1872. 






LOYAL MOUNTAINEERS: 



The Guerrilla's Doom. 



A WAR DRAMA, 

HARDSHIPS, SUFFERINGS, A* 
E UNIONISTS OF EAST TENN 

FOUNDED ON FACTS. 
By 

J. N. CULVER, 

Under the Auspices of Baldy Smith Post No. 20, Dept. of Vt, 

AND 

RHTOCfrULtf DEDICATED TO THE GRAND ARM OF THE REPUBLIC. 




St. gtlbans, m.\ 

E. A. MORTON, PRINTER. 

1872. 



4 

,V V 4. 



Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1872. 

By J. N. CULVER, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



All Rights Resekv*d. 



Y70S9707 



Cast op Characters. 



UNIONISTS. 

Mr. Marks A Tennessee Farmer. 

Wm. Marks Son of Mr. Marks, in Union army. 

Walter Greenwood Union Spy. 

John Steel -» Union Soldier. 

Robert Davis " 

Charley Bates " 

Pat O'Doherty '. " 

Old Ben Contraband. 

&am Hannebal " 

Col. Barker Commanding Union Regiment. 

Capt. Dunbar " " Company. 

Adjutant, Officers and Soldiers. 

Alice Marks Daughter of Mr. Marks 

Clara Steel Sister to Fred Steel. 

Widow Powers Tennessee Lady. 

Mart Powers Mrs. Powers' Daughter. 

CONFEDERATES. 

Fred Steel. Chief of Guerrillas. 

Sam Smith Guerrilla. 

Tom Jones. " 

Joe Blake (Greenwood in disguise) " 

Abraham Allen (Conscripted) Rebel Guard. 

George Mack " 



COSTUMES. 

Mb. Marks— 1st. Hunting, with blanket, gun, &c. Scl. Private. 3d. 

Prison. 4th. Private. 
Wm. Marks— Private soldier. 
Walter Greenwood— 1st. Disguised as Guerrilla. 2d. Captain. 3d. 

4th. Prison. Disguised. 5th. Captain. 
John Steel— Prison. 

Robert Davis— 1st. Prison, 2d. Private. 3d. Prison. 4th. Private. 
Charley Bates— 1st. Prison. 2d. Private. 
Pat O'Doherty — Private. 
Old Ben— Prison. 

Sam Hannibal— 1st. Plantation. 2d. Soldier. 
Col. Barker, Capt. Dunbar, Adjutant, &c. equipped according to 

regulations. 
Alice Marks— 1st. Mourning. 2d. Traveling. 3d. Bridal. 
Clara Steel— 1 st Mourning. 2d. Traveling. 
Mart Powers, Widow Powers— Home. 
Fred Steel— Guerrilla Colonel (Light Gray). 
Sam Smith— iC Captain. " 
Tom Jones— " Private. " 
Joe Blake— " " " 

Abraham Allen— Private C. S. A. 
Geo. Mack— Sergeant C. S. A. 



LOYAL MOUNTAINEERS; 



The Guerrilla's D002 



ACT I. 

SCENE FIRST. 
Wood or Mountain Scene — Fred Steel and his Gang of Guer- 
rillas discovered Playing Cards, Smoking, and Drinking 
—"We'll Not Go Home Till Morning." 

Fred Steel. — Well, boys, we must hurry up our 
talking ; for you know I am off before light to-mor- 
row morning. 

Tom Jones. — Yes, Colonel, I know we have got to 
part with you ; but we must have a sort of good-by 
spree, you know. 

Fred Steel. — Yes, boys, I am going to leave you ; 
but, if I don't like it at Libby, I shall come back 
again. Now, before we break up, I want you to 
elect a new Captain, I want you to put in a man 
who won't be afraid to hear a woman yell, either; 
for sometimes they have tried to bother us when we 
have been sort of looking over then- houses. I have 
thought Sam would make a good one. What do 
the rest of you think? 



All of the the Guerrillas call for Sam Smith, Captain Smith, 
&c, &c. 

Sam Smith. — I don't know what to say, boys ; I am 

no speech maker ; but I didn't onc't think you would 

appint me Capum ; there is men here as has got more 

larnin' than I has, but, if you want me, I never will 

ask one on yer ter go where I won't. 

All the Guerrillas exclaim : "Good, good! Hurrah for Cap- 
tain Sam." — All cheer. 

Fred Steel. — We have been together, boys, for 
over two years, and there is not a man here but what 
can count his stamps by the thousand ; and, while 
we have been helping ourselves, we have been sup- 
porting the "Bonnie Blue Flag." I received a letter 
of commendation from Gen. John Morgan, to-day, 
with my Colonel's commission. 

He says that our company has been the most suc- 
cessful of any under his command, and that he wishes 
he had more such men. So don't let a chance slip 
to strike a blow for Southern rights. To be sure, 
we have suffered — -all brave soldiers must. We have 
lost many good men by these so-called "Loyal Moun- 
taineers," who are nothing but cowards at best, and 
thanks be to Capt. Sam Smith's Rangers that the 
country is rid of some of them. 

Sam Smith. — Only one man now lives that I really 
dread, and that is Old Marks. I think I've seen him 
onc't, but don't know him. I seen an old man with 
long white hair and whiskers, and if I had had my 
gun, I would have known, sure. 

Fred Steel. — Sam, T don't want Old Marks killed. 
You know we went to his house in the night, and 
got about ten thousand dollars in gold, put the old 



. 



woman and Charlie out of the way, and 1 have Alice 
down to Widow Powers'. We burnt up the old 
man's house, and I guess on the whole he has got his 
pay for his Yankee talk. 

Sam Smith. — Yes, I know all that; and we thought 
the old man was dead, too ; but here he has been 
prowling round like a hyena, and has murdered six- 
teen of our best boys. I think he ought to be put 
out of the way. 

Fred Steel. — You are Captain now, and- will do 
just as you choose after I am gone ; but I wish we 
could take him prisoner — and then don't you see I 
could make him give his consent to my marrying 
Alice? 

Sam Smith. — There is something to that, Colonel ; 
and I will promise you that we will take him alive, if 
possible ; but if I get sight of him, he's my prisoner, 
dead or alive. 

Tom Jones. — Come, come, we must be moving, or 
we shan't get a chance to make an honest dollar to- 
night. 

Fred Steel. — I know, Tom, but I want to chat 
with you a little before I go, and we want to drink 
Captain Sam's health, too. You know this Yankee 
whisky is tiptop. How that chap did bellow when 
I popped him over and took his team and barrel of 
whisky. 

Tom Jones. — Good whisky, too; pity there weren't 
two barrels of it. And now I propose we dr|nk first 
Col. Fred Steel's good health, and next Capt. Sam 
Smith's — and then we will proceed to close. All 
ready. 



All take their canteens or flasks. 

Here's to Col. Fred Steel, who has proved true to 
his name while our Captain for the last two years. 

All drink. 

Now here is to Sam Smith, who's our Captain to be, 
While we scout over the mountains in East Tennesse. 

All drink. 
Here is to Alice Marks, our Colonel's brightest shil- 
ling, 
And he'll surely marry her, if the Old Man is willing. 

Fred Steel. — Now, boys, here is one for you. 
May you all prove as true to your new Captain as 
you have to me. 

Drinks-. 

Since our company has been organized we have 
supported ourselves from the Yankee army. When 
we first started there were only six of us. Now we 
have over one hundred. We have taken all of our 
horses from the Yankee army, and nearly all we have 
came from them. Gen. Morgan writes me that there 
are twenty-three hundred men in the whole regi- 
ment, and all that he has ever had from the South 
was twenty-seven army saddles — his horses, clothing, 
arms and ammunition having been taken from the 
Yankees. 

Sam Smith. — Colonel, do you know where Old 
Marks is now? 

Fred Steel. — No, I can not tell, but I think he 
is over the other side of the mountain. I am going 
down to Widow Powers' to-night to try and per- 
suade Alice to go to Richmond with me. How like 



a fool she behaves. She shall be my wife, sooner or 
later. 

Tom Jones, — O, Colonel, what's the use ; you 
don't want any wife, and she is bound to have that 
Spy, Walter Greenwood, any way, and she can't 
marry you both, 

Fred Steel. — Given wood is far from here in the 
Army of the Potomac, and Alice Marks can not see 
him. If he is brought to Libby while I am in com- 
mand, won't I have some sport? [Looks at his 
watch.] Well, boys, Ave must part. I am bound to 
see Alice before I go. Here, Captain [Gives him his 
Revolver], take this as a present. 

Sam Smith. — Thank'e, Colonel, I'll try and make 
good usn on't. I suppose you will cross the river in 
our new boat, as the bridges are all burnt % 

Fred Steel. — Yes, I told Frank that I should be 
there to-night, and he must have everything ready 
for me. Gen Morgan will have a horse for me on 
the other side. 

All exeunt R. Enter Old Marks L. 

Marks. — Alone, alone, all, all alone ! Two years 
ago I was happy — happy as any man in East Tennes- 
see. How is all changed ! Then I was rich — now 
I have nothing, not even a crust of bread I Then I 
was happy with my family ; I had honor among my 
fellow men ! Why this change 1 All because I 
loved the Old Flag. When the cry of war arose, 
what was I to do ? Should I see that flag under 
which I had lived and prospered trailed in the 
dust 1 ? Should I see my country ruined, and 
and her just laws destroyed ? Nay ; should I be a 



10 

willing instrument in this work of vandalism? I 
saw but one course to pursue, and, though it has cost 
me dear, I thank God that he has given me strength 
to pursue it thus far. How fearful the cost of 
loyalty ! My house burned, my wife murdered, my 
eldest son hung, my youngest driven away, my 
daughter nowhere to be found, and myself beateu 
and left for dead ! But my time had not come. I 
took a solemn vow of vengeance, and sixteen guer- 
rillas have fallen before my steady aim in atonement 
of my wrongs. The debt is not paid yet. I feel 
that I shall see my daughter soon. I hear that she 
is somewhere in this vicinity. [Crosses the stage.] 
I must try and find out what that party of guerrillas 
over there are planning. I dare say they are trying 
to find me, or murder some Union man. [Goes and 
listens.] I have been following you for three days, 
and you are one less than when you started. What! 
Fred Steel a guerrilla ? 'Twas you, then, who led 
the gang that murdered my wife and child. You 
who told me that you should never aid the South- 
ern cause. Villain ! you, too, shall die the death of 
a coward and traitor ; but not yet. My revenge is 
sure. Ha ! he comes this way. I must conceal 
myself. [Hides.] 

Enter Fred Steel and two Guerrillas R., and go out at L. As 
soon as they pass off the stage, enter Walter Greenwood in 
disguise as a guerrilla. Mr. Marks sees him, and 
rises to shoot, but Greenwood makes motions to him not 
to. Advances to Marks, and takes off his whiskers and 
hair. 

Mr. Marks. — What, Walter Greenwood? 
Walter G. — Yes, I am here. I have been here two 



11 

or three weeks hunting for you, and I hardly know 

how I happened to see you now. We must talk fast, 

as the gang have camped near here, and may see us, 

Marks. — Can you tell me where my children are? 

Walter G, — Yes ; William is in the Army of the 
Potomac, in the same regiment with me. Alice is 
with Widow Powers, at the foot of the mountain, 
where she was put by Fred Steel as a prisoner; but 
Mrs, Powers is as kind to her as a mother. Steel 
has gone there to-night to see her, and, if possible, 
take her with him to Richmond, 

Marks. — Take her to Richmond 1 

Walter G. — Yes, Steel has received a commission 
as Colonel. He has been assigned to Libby prison 
as commander, and starts to-night for Richmond. 

Marks.- -I must go at once to my daughter, and 
save her from this murderer's hands, if possible. 

Walter G, — You need not fear of her going with 
him. Tell Alice I will see her to-morrow ; but I 
must go back to Camp now, or they will miss me. 

Marks. — When shall you return to your regiment? 

Walter G. — In two or three days. I have got 
to visit the Rebel camp once more, and then I am off. 

Marks, — Be cautious, Greenwood, and not run too 
great a risk. I am going to see my daughter, and 
then start for the Army of the Potomac, and find 
my only boy. This is my last night on this moun- 
tain. But I must avenge my wife's murder. Good- 
by [Shaking hands]. Tell William that his father 
is alive and well, and will soon see him. 

Exit Greenwood R. 

I must at once start for Mrs. Powers, and see my 



12 

daughter, and, if possible, put an end to Fred 

Steel's vile career- 
Goes and looks out at R. 
I see their camp now, and Greenwood is talking 

with them. Now for my last shot on this mountain. 
Takes aim and fires. 

One more added to my revenge, and seventeen 
sneaking guerrillas gone to their long home. [Look- 
ing.] Ah ! you are coming this way for me, are 
you 1 ? Good-by to Fred Steel's guerrillas and the 
Cumberland Mountains for the present. 



13 



ACT I. 

SCENE SECOND. 

Home of Mrs. Powers — Tables, Chairs, &c, &c — Mrs. Pow- 
ers, Mary Powers, and Alice Marks talking. 

Alice. — Mrs. Powers : I have been thinking all 
this evening that I should again see my dear father ; 
but T have feared that he would be murdered by 
Fred Steel's gang of outlaws- It is nearly mid- 
night, and I must retire. I nan not sleep lately. I 
can't help thinking of that dreadful night when — 

Mrs. Powers. — Alice, dear, don't talk about that 
to-night, for you know it always makes you sick ; 
but you are getting stronger now, and must try and 
persuade yourself that it was God's will, and all for 
the best. I know it was terrible and wicked on the 
part of Fred Steel to take such a bloody course, but 
it is done and can not now be helped. Alice, I 
think you will again see your father and brother. 

Alice. — It is my constant prayer that I may; but 
father has such bitter enemies that I believe if he 
were to come here to-night, and the Guerrillas should 
know it, they would kill him before my eyes ; but 
not until they had passed over my dead body, 

Mrs. Powers. — Come, come, Alice, don't talk any 
more to-night ; you are tired, and I am afraid you 
will get excited, 

Alice. — I know it, kind friend, but I can't help it. 
To think that Fred Steel, that detestable coward, 



14 

should act such a part— and then imprison me here, 
as he supposed ; but thank God, I could not have 
fallen into kinder hands; and then to come here and 
talk to me of love. If I dared do it, I would send 
his soul before his Maker. What if Fred Steel 
should find out that you were a strong Union wo- 
man and all of your family loyal, and that you were 
helping Union prisoners across the lines almost every 
day, and that this house was pointed out to escaped 
prisoners from nearly all the Southern prisons'? 

Mrs. Powers, — Alice, please be more careful; 
you must remember not to speak of that again aloud. 
With Gol's help we will keep it a secret, and as 
long as I have a crust of bread in the house, just so 
long shall I be happy to give it to the Boys in Blue. 

Mary. — Come, Alice, we will now retire and get 
some rest ; you know we can not tell what the morrow 
will bring forth. I dare say Fred Steel will be here 
to look after your welfare, and see that you do not 
escape. I wonder wh^re Sam is ? he has not gone 
to bed yet ; you know we sent him out about 8 

o'clock to see if there were any escaped prisoners to 

help, and he has not yet returned. 

Alice. — I don't know, Mary. I have been think- 
ing of that myself, and can not tell what has 



Enter Sam, cautiously, at L. conducting an escaped Union 
prisoner. 

Sam. — Missus, dis yer poor sojer boy is starved 
most to death, but he is feardyouis Seseshandgwine 
to send him back to Castle Thunder or Castle Light- 
ning, or some other drefful place. I tole him don't 



15 

be feard. But, Missus Powers, you must be careful 
for I 'spec Fred Steel is coming. [Exit L.] 

Mrs. Powers. — My dear boy where have you 
come from ? You need not be afraid to tell, for we 
are all your friends. 

Robert Davis. — Two weeks ago three of us got 
out of Salisbury prison. The other two boys were 
caught and killed in my sight. I had climbed a tree 
just soon enough to save my life. The Rebels tried 
to make them tell where I was; but they would 
not, and died with the secret in their breasts. I 
have traveled by night, sleeping where I could find 
a shelter, or lying out, with my eyes turned toward 
the bright stars, and dropping asleep wondering if 
people there suffered so. I have had very little to 
eat, and am sick and tired. I only ask that I may 
again be well enough to get back to my regiment. 

Mrs. Powers. — Cheer up, my brave boy; you at 
last have found friends. Here you are safe. We 
will soon find a way to help you to freedom and 



Robert Davis. — How your kind words cheer me. 
They are so different from what I have heard for the 
last six months. I feel new life and strength. 

Loud raps heard at the door. 

Mrs. P. — Mary, show this soldier where to con- 
ceal himself, and then see who is at the door. 

Mary goes L. and points out. Exit Robert Davis. Loud raps 
continued at the door. Mary takes the candle, and opens 
the door, when Fred Steel enters. 

Fred Steel. — Good evening, ladies ; I am quite 
late. 



16 

Mary. — What brings you here at this time of 
night 1 

Fred Steel. — I have received a commission as 
Colonel for my brave deads on these mountains, and 
have been ordered to Richmond to take charge of 
the Yankee boarding house — what is better known 
as Libby Prison. And as I had a little time, I 
thought I would come and see my dear Alice before 
I left, hoping she would like to go to Richmond 
with me as Mrs. Col. Steel. 

Alice.' — Never ! 

Fred Steel. — Mrs. Powers, you and Mary can re- 
tire. I will keep guard over Alice until I call you. 
Mrs. Powers and Mary retire L. 

F. S. — [Advancing toward Alice] Alice, my dear, 
why look so scornful? Be cheerful — come, come 
now, don't act so. You know I love you. [Takes 
hold of her arm. ] 

Alice. — [Striking his hand away] Unhand me, 
sir ; your fingers are stained with my mother's blood. 

Fred Steel. — Alice, don't speak of that again — 
let it pass ; you know I never intended to shoot 
your mother. 

Alice. — Why do you come to taunt me with your 
tales of love ? You who murdered my mother and 
brother, and tried to murder my father. 

Fred Steel, — Alice I have often asked your for- 
giveness for the deeds of that dreadful night. 

Alice. — Fred Steel, I wish to ask you one ques- 
tion, and I want an honest answer. Why did you 
take such a cowardly part in this wicked Rebellion, 



17 

going from house to house in the dead of night and 
murdering defenceless people? Old men and wo- 
men, and even innocent children, have died at the 
hands of your fiendish gang. 

Fred Steel. — Why ask me such questions ? Did 
I not rid the country of nearly all the Yankee spies 
in this section. I would not harm a woman or a 
child, if they did not interfere with my business. 
Furthermore, I was promised a commission if I made 
way with these traitors. Honestly, Alice, I have 
often wished T had not taken the course I have ; but 
it is now too late. 

Alice.— No, not too late ; burn your Rebel com- 
mission ; go North ; put on a blue coat, and help 
crush the greatest and most wicked rebellion the 
world ever saw. 

Feed Steel. — What! give up a Colonel's com- 
mission, and be a private soldier ! 

Alice, — Yes ; and be a man. 

Fred Steel. — Never! I yet will hold a commis- 
sion still higher then Colonel. But I must not stop 
to talk with you ; I am going to start for Richmond 
at once, and you are going with me. So make haste. 

Alice. — Fred Steel, I am not going with you. 

Fred Steel. — It will be useless to resist, as I 
have a guard at the door, to help me if necessary. 

Alice. — For shame, Fred Steel ! Had you the 
whole Confederate army at your command I would 
not go. 

Fred Steel. — [Advancing and seizing Alice by 
the arms.] Miss Marks, you are in my power, and I 
will make you my wife, by fair means or foul. 



18 

Mr. Marks enters cautiously from L., and seizes Steel, and 
sends him to R. 

Alice. — [Rushing forward and embracing her 
father.] Father ! Father ! 

Marks. — Villain ! we have met at last, face to 
face, and now for my revenge. 

Fred Steel. — Old man, I have come to make a 
wife of that girl, and am going to do it ; if you in- 
terfere you are a dead man. [Whistles.] 

Enter two guerrillas from R. and seize Mr. Marks. - 

Bind him fast, boys, and take him to camp. Do 
what you please with him. 

Marks. — Fred Steel, I am on your track. You 
are doomed to die the death of a miserable, sneak- 
ing traitor, 

Fred Steel. — [Pointing his revolver at Marks.] 
Silence, you old fool, or I'll put a hole through you. 

Alice.- -[Stepping in between Steel and her 
father.] Shoot ! shoot ! if you dare, you villain. 
You are a eoward ; you dare not shoot. Stained 
with blood as your hands are, you dare not murder 
me. Injure one hair of my father's head, and you 
will not go from this house alive. 

Fred Steel. — Not quite so smart. You can't 
scare anybody. [Advances.] Come, hurry up, the 
guard at the boat will think we are never coming. 
[Advances and seizes Alice. ] Come, boys, take the 
old man along. 

Alice. — Help ! help ! I .can not, I will not go ! 
Unhand me, villain. 



19 

Enter Robert Davis and Sam at L. who at once seize the guard 
holding Mr. Marks, disarm and drive them off the stage — 
Re-enter Sam, who points revolver at Fred Steel — Steel re- 
leases Alice. 

Alice. — Not yet, Sain, he is not fit to die. (Point- 
ing to Fred Steel.) Go, sir, your presence is loath- 
some. 

Exit Sam at L. 

Fred. S. — Who is this nigger and that escaped 
prisoner ? 

Alice. — Go, sir, and ask no questions. 

Fred S. — (Retiring slowly.) Young lady you 
will be fearfully sorry for this gross insult. You 
have defeated me this time. I shall leave my Com- 
pany in trusty hands, and they will deal with you 
as you deserve. As for your old father there, he can 
not escape my vengeance — he must and shall yield to 
the will of Fred Steel's Rangers. He can not cross 
the river now, the bridges are all burned, and there 
is but one boat, and that we use, and no one else. I 
have a trusty man in charge of it, so I will bid you 
good-by. My revenge is sure. 

Exit Fred Steel R. 

Marks- — Gone — and Old Marks' curses follow 
you. 

Alice. — Dear father, what shall we do ? 1 do not 
fear Fred Steel, or his gang, but I do feel so lone- 
some without you are with me. Let us go to Knox- 
ville. Mrs. Powers wishes to go at once, and we 
shall be so happy there. No fear of Guerrillas. 

Marks. — No, daughter, I can not go to Knox- 
ville. I am going North, to find William. We can 



20 

see each other but a short time, for I must start to- 
night.- 

Alice. — I can not say "no," although it is hard to 
part with you so soon. 

Marks. — Yes, I must go this very night; but 
how can I cross the river ? 

Alice. — I will get a canteen of whisky and drug 
it. We will send Sam ahead, and he can get the 
guard drunk who has charge of their boat. Then 
you can cross the river, and very soon find friends, 
for you know just what house to go to for help over 
there. We will go at once and prepare for your 
departure. 

Marks. — Where is Sam? We must see him and 
make arrangements at once, for I am going to take 
him with me. "Sam !" "Samuel !" 

Enter Sam at L. 

Sam. — Yes, Massa, I's here. Wharis de big Steel, 
am he done gone? 

Marks. — Yes, Sam, Steel has gone, and you and 
I are going North to-night. We will go and see 
William and the soldiers. Don't you want to go ? 

Sam. — Yes, Massa, I wants to go ; but who will 
take keer of Miss Alice 1 

Alice. — I am going to Knoxville to-morrow with 
Mrs. Powers, to stay until father gets back. We 
have made all the arrangements. You and the sol- 
dier are to go first and get the boat at the river, and 
then father will come. He will go down the river 
about a mile, and take you and the soldier on board, 
and convey you to a place of safety. 



21 

Sam. — I's gwine for to be a soldier. Is gwine 
to be a Colored Regiment, and have a brass coat 
wid blue buttons all over it. I guess Mr. Lincum 
will be glad when he hears I's coming. I golly what 
would hab become of dis country if dis yah niggah 
never had no mammy 1 

Exit L. 

Marks. — Come, Alice, I must be going, Sam will 
be ready in a few minutes. 

Exit all at L. 



22 



ACT I. 
SCENE THIRD. 
Wood Scene — Enter Sam and Robert Davis at L. 
Robert Davis. — Come, Sam, hurry up; We 
shan't get there to-night, unless we go faster. 

Sam.— I's hurryin' fast I can. You see, Massa, I 
don't want to found any dem Guerillas, cause we 
haint got no time to stop and kill 'em. 
Lightning flashes and thunder heard, which very much frightens 
Sam. 

Who's feard? Guess I ain't; dat's thunder and 
lightning. You ain't skeered, is you? 

Robert Davis. — What ails you, Sam, hurry up, 
we shall get wet if we don't look out? Tt is going 
to rain, and I am afraid we won't get to the boat 
and get that whisky into the guard before Mr. Marks 
comes. [Exit both at R.] 

Enter Marks and Alice L. — Lightning and thunder at intervals. 

Alice. — This is a dreadful night, father ; but I 
am happy to think you are to be safe soon. 

Marks. — Yes, I rejoice to think that I shall soon 
breathe the air of freedom. Sam is a trusty boy, 
and I have no fear from him. 

Alice. — I have no fear from him ; but I am fear- 
ful that we have been watched by the Guerrillas. 
Hist ! I can hear them now. Oh ! let us hurry. 
[Exit both at R.] 

Enter Guerrillas at L. 



23 

Sam Smith. — I am sure I saw Old Marks and 

Alice come out of the house, and come this way. 

We must have Old Marks this very night, and that 

nigger, too. Steel trusted that black devil too 

much. I just want to get hold of his carcass. I'll 

fix him. See! [All look out at R.] There goes 

Old Marks and Alice ! They are going for our boat. 

Look down to the river. That nigger has unloosed 

the boat ! Where is the Guard ? They must have 

killed him. Come on, boys. [All exit at R.] 

Shouts heard outside of "Shoot him," Shoot the gal, and the 

Nigger, if you can't take them alive" — One shot heard 

Alice enters at 1st R. E., kneels, clasps hands, exclaims : 

"Saved ! Saved ! " — Scene rises showing Mr. Marks in 

boat crossing river — He fires one shot and shouts, "Old 

Marks is safe!" — Back scene rises showing Goddess of 

Liberty. 



24 



ACT II. 

SCENE FIRST. 

Woods — Camp Fire — Soldiers on picket duty — Pat O'Doherty, 
Sam Hannibal, Walter Greenwood, Mr. Marks, William 
Marks, and others. 

Walter G. — Corporal, I guess you had better 
take the men and go out a little nearer the Rebel 
line, and should you see or hear anything that would 
lead you to think they intend to give us battle, report 
the same to me at once, 

Pat. — Yis, Corporal, fall in your min to onst, and 
Pat O'Doherty will bring up the rare. I will be on 
the lookout that none ov um lag behind, and as sure 
as a Johnny spakes a loud word, I'll be afther re- 
portin' to Capt. Grain wood. 

Corporal. — Fall in, men. 

Men all fall in except Greenwood, Mr. Marks and Wm. Marks. 

Sam H, — De Lord bress my soul, Massa Green- 
wood, is you gwine to hab a battle here ? 

Walter G. — It looks so now, Sam ; but I thought 
you were anxious to see us pitch into the Bebels? 

Sam.— Yes, Massa, an so I is ; but can't I wait till de 
sun shines, it would be mighty dark seein' you shoot 
now"? 

Pat. — Sam Hannibal, yes kin come along wid me, 
an I don't think ye nade be throubled wid fare while 
under me spishal protecshin. 



Sam. — Yah, yah ; dis yer chile aint afeard to go 
wid you ; you's a man after my own heart, and if de 
Rebble sojers come when we git dah, I guess day 
will be sorry. 

Walter G. — Yes, Sam, you go with Pat. I shall 
not need you here. Now don't run or get fright- 
ened, but keep close to Pat. 

Corporal drills his squad a little, and marches them off at E. 

Marks. — Well, boys, here I am, free from the 
hands of Fred Steel's band, and where T feel that f 
can strike one more blow at the heart of treason. 

William. — Yes, father, I am happy to see you 
and have you so near me ; but you are too old to 
try to march with us day by day, and suffer the ex- 
posure of a soldier's life. 

Marks. — My dear boy, you little know what pri- 
vations are. I have lived through two years of camp 
life such as would make you faint hearted. No, no, 
my boy, don't think that of me until you see me lag 
behind on the march. 

Walter G. — I gness you hadn't better try to 
talk camp life with your father, for he can tell you 
more about it than you know yourself. 

William. — I know he has had a hard time, and 
that is just the reason why I think he needs rest. 
But if he feels it his duty to go as a soldier, I have 
nothing more to say. 

Marks. — Just as long as Fred Steel's band of 
Guerrillas exist, just so long will Old Marks be on 
their trail — be it in the Army of the Potomac or on 
the mountains of East Tennessee. I feel that a 



26 

blow here will do just as much good as to shoot one 
of his gang. 

Walter G. — Wherever a blow is struck at treason, 
it is felt the whole length of the line. But, Mr. 
Marks, you are not free from Guerrillas here. Our 
regiment has been harrassed by Mosby's gang for 
more than three weeks, and I fear more from them 
to-night than from the -Rebel troops. Our Regi- 
ment sleep on their arms night after night to be in 
readiness for just such an attack. I gave the Cor- 
poral strict orders to keep a sharp lookout at the 
outer picket post, and if he should see any Guerrillas 
or anything that would lead him to think there was 
to be an attack by Rebel troops or Guerrillas, to send 
a man here at once. 

William.— Don't you think, Wal ter, that we had 
better try and get a little rest? We were up all 
last night, and have had but little sleep to-day. 

Walter G- — I have been thinking of that my- 
self, for I know we have a trusty guard at the outer 
post, and we should be warned soon enough were we 
all asleep. 

Marks. — Hark ! 1 thought I heard the pickets 
firing. There goes another shot. Our boys are 
having a skirmish. 

Walter G. — If there is any trouble, we shall hear 
of it soon, for the Corporal will either send a man or 
come himself. 
Enter Pat O'Doherty and Sam Hannibal all out' of breath. 

Pat. — Faith, an' yer honor, Captain, an', an', the 
guerrillas is afther us, the whole of Mosby's army. 
And the Corporal towld me to be afther comin' here 



27 

and tellin' yes at onst, and, by the hovrly Moses, sich 
a time as I have had a gettin' here. In the fust 
place, I made a mistake and run the wrong way in- 
tirely ; then I got twisted about and run the other 
way ; thin I wint back and axed the Corporal what 
he wanted I should bring him, when he sint me 
away, and towld me to tell the Captain that Mosby 
was fightin' him, and that you must sind a man to 
camp to onst and tell the Colonel that there was 
trouble on the picket line, and lor the Colonel to send 
word to the Gineral, and the Gineral tell the min to 
be ready to fight. And now, Captain, I want to be 
the man to go and tell the Colonel, for I know all 
about it. [Spatting his hand.] Be out of that, you 
skater, and would you be afther sucking the blood 
of Pat O'Doherty, when he is on important busi- 
ness ? Now for the Colonel's tent. [Exit Pat at L. 
in haste. 

Sam. — Captain, dis niggah gwine to keep close to 
Pat [Exit at L.] 

Three shots heard at R — Union pickets back on the stage from R 
closely followed by guerrillas — Walter Greenwood and Mr. 
Marks taken prisoners — Union troops driven back off stage 
L — Guerrillas commence robbing the dead and wounded — 
Guerrillas make remarks about what they find,&c — Volley 
musketry heard at L — Some of the guerrillas fall — The rest 
retreat off at R — Enter Union regiment at charge bayonets. 



28 



ACT II. 

* SCENE SECOND. 

Same as Scene I, Act 2d — Curtain rises — No one to be seen — 
Soon Sam cautiously makes his appearance at L loudly call- 
ing for Patrick O'Doherty, advances to center of stage and 
stops. 

Sam. — I aren't feard to be here alone, but Massa 
Greenwood tole me to keep with Patrick ; but de 
Lor bress my soul, I couldn't no more keep up wid 
him than I could cotch chain lightning by de tail. 
He's a drefful runnist. Jes so soon as he tole Massa 
Gre en wood dat de Guerillas was a comin, he run fer 
de Kernul's tent, and tole him, and T tried mighty 
hard to keep wid him, but wan't runnist nuff to keep 
nigh him, and fore day got fra fightin' I lost sight 
ob him, and now whar is he ? De Guerillas haint 
got him prisoner, kase he didn't run in dat direction. 
He mus be round here somewhar. Massa Green- 
wood tole me to keep clos to Patrick O'Doherty 
until he wanted me, and now I mus found him. 

(Loudly calling) Patrich O 'Doherty, Pos' 

No. 15th amendment, double quick, march. 

Enter Pat at R slowly, with coat very badly torn, and otherwise 
generally demoralized, but does not see Sam at first. 

Pat. — Am I Patrick O'Dohirety entirely, or am I 
his ghost? Strange that the boys should run and 
lave me alone. What the divil do they think to run 
and lave me to fight the whole Guerrilla army? and 
Samuel Hannibal, too, he was scart and run, and 



29 

even after Capum Grain wood towldhimtokeep clost 
to me. Just a minute ago I thought I heard Patrick 
O'Doherty's name mintioned. I wonder what it 
could mane ? I must look around a little and see if 
I can find any of the boys. I am not at all fright- 
ened, and can whip all the Ribels in a batch, if they 
will only come on. 

Goes and looks out at L, when he hears a dog bark or a 
pig squeal, which frightens him, and he leap's back on the 
stage — All this time Sara is very much pleased to see the 
fun go on, but does not mike a loud noise 

It must be a bloody Guerrilla, and I must be afther 
getting out of this intirely, or I shall be down to 
Libby prison before I want to go. 

He turns and starts to run, but is so near Sam that he hits him 
hard enough to knock both clown. 

Pat. — Why the divil didn't ye tell me that ye 
wanted me to ground arms, and not be afther execut- 
ing yer orders until after yer had given 'em. 

Sam. — Lor' bress my soul, Pat, how easy we did 
parade rest. 

Pat.— Divil a bit ov rest did I git, but plenty of 
parade. 

Sam. — Patrick, what made you run off and leave 
me when Massa Greenwood tole you to stay wid me? 

Pat. — Capum Grainwood didn't tell me to stay 
wid you. He told you to stay wid me. Now why 
didn't you obey orders ? If yes keep on disobeying 
orders in that way, Capum Grainwood will be after 
rejucing you to the ranks of a private, and then yes 
will have to obey orders. But come, Samuel, we 



30 

must find the Regiment. I don't see how I come to 
get astray. 

Sam. — Patrick, Massa Greenwood and Massa 
Marks are both prisoners- I helped Massa William 
to get away, but I could not help de other two. I 
was feared de Guerrillas would Come back ; but I 
'spect day am done gone. Massa William feels 
drefful bad because his fader am taken prisoner. 
Enter three Guerrillas, who chase Sam and Pat around the stage 
— Curtain drops. 



: 



31 



ACT III. 

SCENE FIRST. 

Libby Prison — Prisoners seated in groups on the floor closely 
watched by Rebel Guard. 

Robert Davis. — Charley, did you see the New 
York Tribune, this morning, when old Ben had it? 

Charley Bates. — No, Robert ; but I heard some 
of the boys say that the Rebs would exchange pris- 
oners before long. If we can tell anything by the 
papers, Grant is at Vicksburg, and is bound to stay 
there, until he either takes it or dies in the attempt. 

Robert D. — I only hope he will succeed. I have 
have been in Salisbury prison, and I think I know 
what the horrors of a Rebel prison are ; but I would 
willingly stay here a month longer if I could only 
hear that Vicksburg had fallen. 

John Steel. — Robert, T wish I could be as cheer- 
ful as you are. But here I have been for a long 
time ; at first I was cheerful, and tried to have cour- 
age ; but as the news of victory after victory for the 
Union army come to the ears of the Rebels, the 
harder they have been upon us, until nearly all that 
came here with me have starved to death, or been 
shot for some slight offence. 

Rebel Guard, Geo. Mack. — (Striking John), 
Shut up yer head, you detestable Yankee, yer no 
need ter come ter war if yer hadn't wanted ter. 



32 

John S. — I know that, sir ; but I would not stay 
away when such as you were engaged in trying to 
destroy the liberty our grandfathers fought for. I 
have but a short time to live, but with my dying 
breath will T rejoice that I have remained true to my 
dear dead mother's last request of loyalty to the glo- 
rious old flag. 

Marks. — Brave boy ; should you live to get out 
of this hell hole, you will be proud to say that, 
tempted by the devil as you were, loyalty triumphed, 
while he (pointing to Rebel Guard) taints the very 
earth with treason, and to his dying day can not for- 
get that he has been a traitor to the old flag. 

Walter Greenwood. — Boys, keep up good cour- 
age. We shall not stop here long, starved and 
abused as we ara. These wretches can not keep us 
here always. There is a good time coming, and that 
soon. 

Reb. Geo. M. — Yes, you-uns talk well, don't yer? 
but I reckon you-uns will have some o' yer pluck 
taken out of yer 'fore night, for we-un's new com- 
mander has come, and he won't stand none of yer 
Yankee slang. He's a goin' through the boardin' 
house purty quick, and I rackon most of you-uns will 
sing a different song when you see him. 

Enter Fred Steel. 

Fred Steel. — Hello, Yanks ! I reckon you are all 
glad to see me, and I suppose the Sergeant told you 
I was coming. Now I want you all to behave your- 
selves, and I won't hurt you ; but if you don't mind 
you will be sorry. I shall not have any candles 
burned in the night, as you might burn us all up, 



33 

nor shall I have any reading going on, for I want 
you to keep thinking of your guilty crimes and 
what you are here for. [Looking to the Rebel 
Guards.] Now, Guards, do your duty like men, and 
if you see any of the Yanks disobey orders, either 
shoot 'em or let me know of it, and I will take care 
of them. [Looking to John Steel.] Here, you vil- 
lain, what are you doing? Didn't I just give orders 
not to have any reading go on ? Give me that book. 

John. S. — Please let me keep it ; it won't do me 
any harm. It is the last gift of my dear mother 
who is dead. It is a Bible, sir, and I am sure there 
can be no harm in my reading it. 

Fred S. — Give me that book, you mudsill. 

John S. — Please let me keep it. I will not read 
it any more. I will keep it in my bosom, and no one 
shall see it. It has my name written it by dear dead 
mother. She wrote it just as I started for the war, 
and told me always to keep it. So please don't take 
it away, I can not give it up. 

Fred Steel knocks John down, takes the Bible, and throws it 
away. 

Fred S. — There, Yanks, now see if you can obey 
orders. 

Steel now starts to go out, when he meets an old negro who has 
a paper sticking out of his pocket. Steel grabs it and 
looks at the title, and exclaims : "New York Tribune." 

Fred Steel. — You old nigger, why didn't you 
give me that paper when I gave orders not to have 
any reading going on? 

Old Ben. — Bekase, Massa, you did not ask me 
for it. If you had, I should surely hab gib it to 
you. 



34 

Feed Steel. — Sergeant, bring me thp whip. I'll 
teach this nigger to have New York Tribunes in his 
pocket. 

Sergeant brings whip. 

Old Ben. — -Massa, what would you whip me for, 
I hain't done nuffin, and will always obey you. 

Fred Steel. — (Striking Old Ben) Shut up, you 
old nigger, while I have charge here 1 am going to 
have order. Down on your knees, and I will take a 
little of the impudence out of you. 

Old Ben, — (Kneeling) Don't whip me, massa, 
don't. If you want to kill me, I won't say a word. 
But I can't be whipped any more. I have great 
scars all over me where I have been whipped for 
nuffin. Now don't whip me again. 

Fred S. — Guards take the old nigger and strip 
him. I said I would thrash him, and I will. 

Two Guards take off Ben's coat, and hold him down, when Ered 
Steel commences whipping him — Old Ben groans and pleads 
all to no purpose — He then stops groaning,' moans, and is 
then quiet — Steel then appears to strike Ben in the head 
with the butt of the whip — Music : "Poor Old Slave." 

Walter G. — Fred Steel, you murderer, I will not 
see you pound that dead man any more. If you had 
any shame in you, you never would have committed 
such a horrid deed. 

Fred S. — Who speaks my name ? What ! Wal- 
ter Greenwood? 

Walter G. — Yes, Walter Greenwood speaks your 
vile name. 

Fred S. — I am glad to find you here. It was 
only a few weeks ago that I bid farewell to your 



35 

friends in East Tennessee. And I told therri should 
you happen here, I would use the greatest care that 
you do not trouble the Southern :ause any more. So 
prepare yourself (drawing a revolver), fori am going 
to blow your brains out. 

Walter G. — Fred Steel, I thank God I am pre- 
pared to meet my Maker ; but you are not the agent 
that will send my soul into eternity. 

Fred S. — [Raising his revolver and taking aim.] 
What, what do you say, you spy ? 

Walter G. — Fred Steel, you are a coward, and 
just as sure as you shoot, these starved men here 
will tear you in pieces. We are human, and only 
ask to be treated as prisoners of war. We have borne 
our lot patiently, and have not been abused beyond 
endurance until you stepped your fiendish foot in 
here. Before we will submit to your outrages, there 
is not a man here but will give his life in defense of 
his rights. 

Fred S. — Greenwood, I acknowledge to being a 
little too hasty. I now announce that Walter Green- 
wood, the Union spy, will be shot at sunset to-mor- 
row. Now, you Yanks, see if you can behave your- 
selves. I shall come and see you once every day, 
and I hope there won't anything happen to mar your 
happiness. As it is getting late, you must all retire. 
Guards, keep good watch to-night, and to-morrow 
we will see some fun. 

Marks. — Go now, you Guerrilla. You have done 
enough. You have murdered one more man, and 
added one more line to your record of infamy. 



36 

Fred S. — Old Marks'? How came you here? 
You thought you had got out of my power when 
you stole my boat, didn't you? But fortune favors 
me at every step, and if you were engaged in a just 
cause, you never would have been so unfortunate. 

Marks. — I am proud to say that I am fortunate, 
and that you are unfortunate in having such a black 
heart. I would not exchange places with you to-day. 

Fred S. — One more word out of your head, and 
I will blow your brains out. 

Marks. — Fred Steel, I am prepared for that. You 
have done nothing else but murder for more than two 
years. It would take a man a lifetime to record all 
your vile acts, and do them justice. 

Fred Steel draws a revolver and fires at Mr. Marks — The 
ball only knocks Marks' cap off, but hits John Steel in the 
neck. 

John S. — (Screaming and falling forward) Oh ! 
I'm shot ! I'm shot ! 

Marks. — Murderer! you are not satisfied with 
murdering one man, but must take the life of your 
own brother, who has been ashamed to own you. 
First you take his Bible away, and, not content with 
that, deliberately shoot him — and your angel 
mother looking down on you. Go, sir, before 
I kill you. I will tear you in pieces, if. you do not 
take your vile carcass out of my presence. 

John S. — Don't talk so. Mr. Marks. He is 
my brother. He didn't mean to shoot me. Had I 
told him who I was, he would have been kind to me. 



37 

Please hold my head for me. It is getting dark, and 

my head is dizzy. 

Mr. Marks gets behind John and holds his head on his bosom. 

Fred S. — Are you my brother John ? Is mother 
dead? 

John S. — Yes, I am your brother ; but very soon 
you will be alone. My strength is fast failing. Dear 
mother is dead. She died soon after we reached 
Boston. I enlisted at once on arriving in Boston, 
and soon after coming to the front I heard of her 
death. Her last request to you was to remain true 
to the old flag. 

Fked S. — It is too late now. I am a Colonel in 
the Confederate army, and if you had told me who 
you were when I first came in, I should have taken 
you out of here at once. I didn't mean to shoot 
you. I am sorry I did, 

John S. — Don't feel bad, brother, I shall soon 
be better off. It was only an act of kind Providence 
to relieve me from my tortures. I should have lived 
but a few days, I will tell mother that you did not 
mean to shoot me, and that you are sorry. Come 
nearer, brother, I can not see you, it is so dark. 
Hark ! oh, such sweet music. It is growing lighter 
now ; mother is coming to see us ; we are at home 
now, brother ; no more war. Come, mother, and 
let me kiss you. Sister Clara what makes you look 
so sad ? mother is happy, and wants me to come to 
her. I am coming, mother. 

Prisoners all point fingers in scorn at Fred Steel, who stands at 
R, of stage with folded arms — Back scene rises showing 
angel with arms outstretched toward John Steel. 



38 



ACT III. 

SCENE SECOND. 
Outside of Libby Prison — Rebels doing guard duty. 

Abraham Allen. — I'll be darned if I ain't 
ashamed of doing this kind of business. I'd rather 
be one of them fellers in there than to be prowlin' 
'round here with orders to shoot one on um if I see 
him a lookin' outen the winder. I tried to go North 
when the war broke out, but I wan't smart, and got 
picked up at it, and was forced into this colored 
wardrobe ; but I don't think I have done um much 
good. I know one thing, I never hurt a Union sol- 
dier yet, and I never will. But the first chance I 
get I will cross the line and join the Union army — 
and then I can go into battle feelin' that there is 
something to fight for ; and, with the old Stars and 
Stripes floatin' overhead, I can whip the whole South- 
ern Confederacy and stand Jeff Davis on his ear. 
Hurrah ! Hurrah tor the flag of the free. [Guard 
sees Corporal of the Guard coming.] Shut up there, 
you cussed Yanks, or I will give you a dose of lead 
that I stole away from one of you. 

Corporal. — What is all this fuss about ? 

Abraham A. — O, them Yanks are having a sort 
of Fourth of July, and I am just going to stop it. 

Corporal. — That is light, make a hole through 
the first one you can get a chance at. 






39 

A, A. — Don't I, Corporal, don't I shoot at una 
most every night ? Say, Corporal, can't you get me 
a furlough? 

Corporal. — I don't know, I will see next month ; 
I can tell better after I see how many Yanks you shoot. 
Exit Corporal. 

A. A. — Well, if that is my only chance, I don't 
see but what I am in for the war, unless sooner de- 
serted. I don't like this. If I could only throw 
open that prison door and free all them poor boys, it 
would be the happiest time of my life ; but I can't, 
and 'tain't no use a whinin'. Hello ! who in thun- 
der is that? Oh, it's Aunt Nancy with some more 
things for the poor soldiers. 

Enter woman closely veiled, with a basket of crackers., &c. — 
Guard takes it and passes the contents into the prison, giv- 
ing the basket back to the woman, who goes out — Guard 
resumes his beat — Officer of the day passes, giving orders 
to keep strict watch. 

A. A. — (Looking at his watch) It is almost one 
o'clock, and I shall soon be relieved. They always 
put me on this post, cause they know I'm faithful- 
Union prisoners begin to put their heads up out of the ground 
look around, dodge back, and finally one crawls out and 
creeps off on his hands and knees, when the Guard crys 
out: "Post No. 7, one o'clock, and all is well" — 
More prisoners, come up out of the ground and run off — 
After they have all come up, the relief comes around and re- 
lieves the Guard — As they pass off they discover the tun- 
nel, and at once give the alarm, when all is confusion — 
Curtain. 



40 



ACT TV. 

SCENE FIRST. 

Woods — Guerrilla camp — Walter Greenwood disguised as Joe 
Blake, a Guerrilla. 

Feed Steel. — Well, boys, I am glad to be with 
you again. I did not like Libby at all, and resigned 
my position there to return to these mountains once 
more. 

Tom Jones. — And we are glad to see you back. 
We have had dull times since you were here. We 
have had hard work to get our rations most of the 
time. 

Sam Smith. — Yes, Colonel, that's so ; we havn't 
spotted any of them Yanks for more'n a week, and 
when you was here we got plenty of chances at 'em. 
Tell you what it is, Colonel, we ain't always poked 
'em over when we oughter ; but somehow most of 
us hain't got the pluck, unless they get us mad. 

Tom Jones. — We have been thinking of giving 
up this company and dividing up into gangs of five 
or six, and try it that way ; but just as we would get 
ready to try it on, we would run on to a squad of 
Yanks, and it would take us all to fight 'em — and 
so we have kept together and kept fightin' until more 
than half of our original men are dead. 

Sam S. — I tell yer what 'tis, Colonel, we made 
money when we was up by Cumberland Gap, but 



41 

after you went away the Yanks soon drove us out, 
and they have kept us on the move most of the time 
since. But we have got lots of horses since you 
have been away. 

Fred S. — I am -sorry to hear that so many of my 
brave boys are dead ; but such is the fortune of war, 
and we all must take our chances. I see some faces 
here that I never saw before, but dare say they are 
all right, and ready to fight for our black flag and 
strike a blow for Southern homes. 

Sam S. — You see, Colonel, we was all so glad to 
see you back that we forgot to say anything to you 
about it. Here is Joe Blake, just come from the 
Yankee army. He tells us that there will be hot 
work here soon, and that we shall have plenty to do. 

Fred S. — I knew that the Yanks were after us 
before, and they are bound to follow us until they 
shoot us all, so we must be on watch for them. 

Joe Blake. — I only left Burnside's army last week, 
and I tell you you have got to be sharp or they will 
go for you. 

Sam S. — By the way, Colonel, what ever became 
of that gal you used to think so much of and was 
going to marry ? 

Fred S. — She is in Knoxville now, and w« must 
plan some way to get hold of her before Burnside 
gets there, for old man Marks, his son, and that 
villain, Greenwood, are all with Burnside, and of 
course when they get to Knoxville they will find her 
and send her North, and that will be the last of her, 
so far as I am concerned. 



42 



Tom J. — Where is your mother now, Colonel 
didn't she go to Knoxville'? 

Fred S. — Yes, she was there, but just before the 
war commenced she and my brother John went to 
Boston. She died there. She was full of Yankee 
patriotism, and had a good deal to say about the old 
flag, the land our fathers fought for, and all that sort 
of stuff. John was just like her, and always said 
that if there was a war he should go North and 
enlist. He did so, and died in Libby prison. My 
sister Clara, I suppose, is still in Knoxville, although 
" T have not heard from her for more than a year. 

Joe B. — What about that gal ? Get that fixed up 
some way" Maybe we can have a little fun out of 
it. Sam told me all about the old man, Marks, so I 
know what you want. If we can only plan to get 
hold of her. 

Fred S. — I'll tell you, boys, what I think I'll do : 
I will disguise myself and go to Knoxville and find 
out all I can. Then we shall know just what to do. 

Sam S. — No, Colonel, I don't think that will ans- 
wer, for we are so near Knoxville that I am afraid 
they will mistrust you, and we shall all be gobbled 
up. You would have to be there two or three days. 
We must do something else that won't take up so 
much time, for old Burnside is north of Loudon now, 
and that is only a few miles from Knoxville, 

Joe B. — I have it. We will write the gal a let- 
ter, and sign Walter Greenwood's name to it. • You 
see she knows that he is with Burnside, and she will 
think it is all right. 

Fred S.— What will you write ? 






43 

Joe B. — Why most anything that will bring her 
out of Knoxville. [Writing,] Let me see. [Reads 
aloul] "Miss Alice Marks: Burnside will be in 
Knoxville next week. Meet me on Saturday in 
the woods just north of the four corners on the 
road that leads from Knoxville to Strawberry Plains. 
You may think this a strange request, but you can 
be of great service to the Northern troops, and I 
know you will esteem it a privilege to help them. 
Meet me at sunset. There is a loyal family near by 
with whom 1 have made arrangements for you to 
stop over night. Come alone, as we do not know 
whom to trust, and if you take anyone with you we 
may have trouble. Your friend and protector — W. 
Greenwood." There, I reckon that will be sweet 
enough. 

Fred S. — Good ! I never should have thought of 
such a plan. I wish you had been with us from the 
first ; we should not have slipped up on so many of 
our plans. Now, Sara, will you take the job of giv- 
ing that letter to Miss Alice J ? You will only have 
to find where Mrs. Powers lives, and then you will 
find Alice. Give her the letter, and come away be- 
fore she has a chance to read it, as she may wish to 
ask you questions. 

Sam S. — Yes, Colonel ; just the job I want, and I 
think the letter will bring her. I'll be back before 
morning, and I suppose that on Sunday we shall have 
a wedding. 

Exit Sam Smith at R. 

Fred S. — Now, boys, I want four or five of you 
to go up to Strawberry Plains and see how things 



44 



look. Be sure and return as soon as Saturday noon, 
as we may want you Saturday night. Tom, you had 
better sort of look out for things, as you know the 
country so well. We must all meet here again on 
Saturday. 
Exit all at L. 






45 



ACT IV. 

SCENE SECOND. 

Mrs. Powers' home in Knoxville— Mary Powers reading a paper 

— Mrs. Powers and Alice variously employed. 

Mary. — How dreadful it is to read of the sacrifice 
of so many lives, the destruction of so much prop- 
erty, and the desolation of our country by civil war. 
When will it end ? When will the South return to 
its allegiance ? 

Mrs. Powers. — Mary, we have much to be thank- 
ful for. Our little home has b^en laid waste, but our 
lives have been spared, and we have found dear 
friends here. The war must close soon. The South 
can hold out but a little longer, and then we will re- 
turn to our home and see what we can do toward 
repairing the waste of war. I fervently hope, too, 
that Alice may have her father and brother restored 
in safety to her, 

Alice. — Yes, my dear friends, it is my constant 
prayer that my dear father and brother return alive. 
Oh, what anguish I have suffered during this dreadful 
war. But I am thankful that my lot is no worse. 
How many loyal mountaineers of East Tennessee 
have gone to their long home. Still they were firm, 
and even to-day there are men on the mountains who 
are anxiously awaiting Burnside's arrival to strike 
a blow for loyalty. 

Mrs. P.— Thank God the time has about come, 
for Burnside will soon be here, O, how many pray- 



46 

ers of thanksgiving will go up to heaven when the 
fife and drum of the Northern army, shall be heard in 
Knoxville. How many poor souls will be ready to 
worship almost the soldiers who set them free from 
this little else than prison. 

Alice. — History will never record the many, very 
many valuable lives sacrificed in our State. There is no 
section of the country where there have been such 
mean, contemptible, bloodthirsty schemes resorted 
to as have here been practiced by the Guerrillas. 
They are not subject even to the lax military rule 
of the so-called Confederacy, and so they execute 
their wicked deeds without hindrance or fear of pun- 
ishment, murdering little children, women, aged men, I 
in fact every one unfortunate enough to fall into 
their hands. 

Mrs. p. — When the Union army comes there will 
be a different order of things. It will be a happy 
moment when the loyal veterans march through our 
streets, the bands playing the tunes we used to hear, 
and the old flag floating over all. What a load will 
be lifted from the true hearts of Tennessee when 
that time comes. Let us have a song. 

Mary Powers sings the "Star Spangled Banner." 

M Rg . p. — Yes, long may it wave. Those words 
never seemed so dear to me as they have since the 
dark days of this terrible war. 

Raps heard at the door— Alice goes and opens it and Clara Steel 
enters. 

Alice, — Dear Clara, I wish you had been here just 
now. Mary has been singing that dear old song, 



47 

"The Star Spangled Banner," and I believe it never 
sounded so sweet to me as how- 
Clara. — It is a soul -in spiring tune. How I long 
to hear it played again by some martial band. 

Mary. — You will not have long to wait, for we 
have heard, very reliably, that the Northern troops 
will be here within a week. 

Clara. — Happy shall I be to see them. But Fred, 
alas ! will not be with them. Oh ! if I could only see 
him long enough to tell him of mother's dying re- 
quest, he could not continue in his present wicked 
work. I fear he is dead. The last I knew ot him 
was through the papers, that he was in command of 
Libby prison. Then I read that he had gone from 
there. Where is he now? 

Alice. — You may yet see him. I do not think he 
is dead. He is your brother, I know, and as such 
you love him, and would be happy to see him give 
up his wricked course. 
Raps heard at door — Mary goes and opens it — Enter Guerrilla. 

Sam Smith. — Is Miss Alice Marks in? 

Alice. — Yes, sir, that is my name ; what do you 
wish ? 

Sam S. — (Handing her a letter) Here is a letter I 

was requested to deliver to you, and to no one else. 

It is a private affair, I believe. [Exit.] 

Alice opens the letter and reads it to herself several times, then 

looks around the room as if to see if anyone is listening, 

when she reads it aloud. 

"Miss Alice Marks: Burnside will be in Knoxville 
next week. Meet me on Saturday in the woods just 
north of the four corners on the road that leads from 



48 



Knoxvilleto Strawberry Plains. You may think 
this a strange request, but you can be of great ser- 
vice to the Northern troops, and I know you will es- 
teem it a privilege to help them. Meet me at sunset. 
There is a loyal family near by with whom T have 
made arrangements for you to stop overnight. Come ' 
alone, as we do not know whom to trust, and if you 
take anyone with you we may have trouble. Your 
friend and protector— W. Greenwood." (Laying 
the letter doAvn.) What can that mean? What 
can he want of me? Why it is nearly five miles 
there, and he wants me to come to-night. It is very 
strange. Where is the man who brought the letter? 
Mrs. Powers, what shall I do ? 

^ Mrs. P.— It is very strange. I don't se~e why he 
didn't come himself Let me see the letter. [Takes 
the letter.] It looks like Mr. Greenwood's writing. 
I should almost be afraid to go, but still if you can 
be of any service to the Union troops you should 
surely go, 

Alice.— But he wants me to go alone. 

Clara.— You must not go alone. I will go with 
you. We will each take a pistol for use in case of 
need. I can conceal myself near you, and be ready 
to help m case you need assistance. 

Alice.— I wish you would go with me, Clara, I 
am afraid to go alone. It will do no harm, as Wal- 
ter s caution was only given through fear of beW 
betrayed. He is very careful, and neglects no pre- 
caution. He has always taken care of himself when 
he has been alone. He has been many times within 
the Kebel lines, and never has been detected yet 



49 



Mhs. P.-Well, girls, you must make haste. It is 
a long distance there, and you want to walk slow. 

Alice.— Let me get my things, and we will be off at 
once. I almost dread to go, the country is so full of 
Guemhas; but they will not dare come so nea, to 
Knoxville. [Exit. ] 



50 



ACT TV- 
SCENE THIRD. 
Same as Scene First, Act IV. 

Fred Steel. — (Walking back and forth) I don't 
see what keeps Sam so long. He said that he would 
be back before morning, and he has been gone three 
days already. I fear he has been gobbled up by 
some of Burnside's scamps. [Drinks.] 

Tom Jones. — Don't you worry, Colonel. Sam is 
all right ; he will be here before long, too. You see, 
Colonel, the Yanks are all around now, and a man 
has to be purty sharp, or they will nab him. Then 
you know there is lots and lots of the^e mountaineers 
that are Yankee clear to their backbone, though we 
have rid the country of some of them. 

Joe Blake. — Yes, Tom, it is a fact. And, al- 
though we claim that we are all right, we must con- 
fess that the people around these mountains have 
suffered more than in any section of the country. 
You know w T e hear almost every day of their leaving 
the mountains to join the Northern army. 

Fred S. — A man would think you were a full- 
blooded Yankee to hear you talk. 

Joe B. — I can't help that. I can not but admire 
their pluck. 

Tom J. — Hark ! I heard some one coming. 
They all take their guns as it ready for action — Enter Sam S. at L. 









51 



Sam S. — Wall, boys, did you think I'd got nabbed? 
Not yet ; but I .did. have to work purty sharp some 
of the time, and I don't want to go galling any 
more. I neve!' found her till to-day, and I hurried 
right back for fear she would be here first. T don't 
blame you, Colonel, for wanting that gal ; but I be- 
lieve I should rather get her by courtin', for she looks 
to me as if she would take care of No. 1, let her be 
where she would. I stopped at the door and listened 
just as long as I dared, and she read the letter to urn 
all, and she is comin'. 

Joe B. — Did you hear her say anything about the 
writing ? 

Sam S. — Yes, the women folks all looked at it, 
and they said it was Walter Greenwood's writing. 
So I concluded that he wrote letters to her, and that 
the Colonel's chance was purty slim. 

Fred S. — Not so slim after all. If she comes 
here to-night we will make her a prisoner, and to- 
morrow I will start with her for Longstreet's camp, 
where I can find a chaplain without any trouble. We 
will be married, and then go to England. I think 
by that time she will be humbled enough to behave 
hersell and treat me as a devoted husband should be 
treated. Here's fun. [Drinks.] Let's all take some- 
thing. [Drinks.] 

' Sam S. — I glory in your spunk, Colonel ; but don't 
you think that plan is more easily made than exe- 
cuted? 

Fred S. — What is there to hinder carrying it out? 
Sam S. — You see Burnside is up this side of Lou- 
don, and will be in Knoxville next week ; and if you 



52 

start for Longstreet's camp you may find it occupied 
by Burnside, If so, you won't find any chaplain to 
perform the ceremony. 

Fred S. — Don't you worry about me. I never 
did slip up on any such plan yet. I don't propose to 
go to Burnside's camp yet awhile. Why don't you 
take something? [Drinks.] 

Tom J. — You fellers had better stop that talk and 
make arrangements about meeting that. gal, for I be- 
lieve she will be here on time. If Sam tells the 
truth about her being so smart. 

Fred S. — Yes, boys, we must fix that up right off, 
for it is almost time she was here. 

Sam S. — It won't do for us all to stay here. She 
may see us before we see her, and then she won't 
come. I don't think she would like the looks of us 
very well. 

Fred S. — That's so, and I hardly know how to 
arrange it. All hands had better take something. 
[Drinks.] 

Joe B. — Some of the boys ought to be on the 
lookout for Yanks, for we don't know when we are 
safe. 

Fred S. — There are three gangs out now; but I 
think we had better have some boys down on the 
Knoxville pike — you know we saw some Yanks there 
to-day. Sam, you and Tom take four or five of the 
boys out there by the horses, and go down near the 
pike and stay there until I signal for you. Joe and 
I will stay here and take care of the gal. [Exit Sam 
and Tom.] Now Joe take something to keep your 
courage up. 



53 

Steel drinks, Joe refuses — Steel begins to stagger as il drunk. 

Feed S. — Now we will hide behind these trees 
until she gets here. Then I will come out and make 
my business known. If she refuses, I will signal 
you, and you can rush out behind her, stop her mouth, 
and then we can manage her as we please. [Exit 
all at R.] 

Enter Alice at L. 

Alice. — This must be the place. No one here — I 
am not late. Can it be possible that I am deceived ? 
I did not like the looks of those men down by the 
pike, and I am afraid there is foul play intended. 
They did not see me, however, and do not know I 
am here. What shall I do? I dare not try to go 
back to-night, it is so far, I dare not cry for help, 
for fear of Guerrillas. Why did he not come as he 
said he would? 

Fred Steel advances cautiously behind Alice — She continues 
talking. 

If he had wanted to see me, why didn't he come 
to Knoxville ? he knew I was there, I have written 
him often. Oh, what shall I do ? Why is he not 
here? 

Fred S. — My dear, I am here ready to protect you. 

Alice. — Fred Steel, you here ? and have I been led 
from home by your fiendish plottings? Lost, lost ! just 
as I was about to see my vision of freedom realized, you 
cross my path to ruin all. Why do you torment me 
more ? Are you not human, or have you lost all but 
the form of man ? Leave me ; the very sight of you 
is loathesome. Your foul breath is filled with rum 
and treason. Go, sir, I say, before I stain my hands 
with blood. 



54 

Fred S. — Alice, this is the only way I could man- 
age to meet you. I have made up my mind to marry 
you. Once more I ask you, will you be my wife ? 

Alice. — You know better than to ask me such a 
question. Hoav dare you talk so to me ? 

Fred S. — You talk very foolish, Miss Alice. I 
have a company of brave boys near by who will as- 
sist me if necessary. 

Alicf,. — Brave man ! Forge a letter, -lead me far 
away from friends, and then tell me that you have 
a company of men to make me consent to marry 
you. Fred Steel, if .you had the whole Rebel army 
at your command, I would not consent. [Fred S. 
advances.] Don't you come near me, you drunken 
coward. I have a pistol, and can use it if necessary. 
I would shoot you as soon as I would a snake if it 
were not for shedding human blood. 

Fred S. — Come, come, Alice, don't talk so ; I don't 
want to hurt you. 

Alice. — Fred Steel, you need not try to frighten 
me, I am not at all afraid of you nor your whole 
gang, 

Fred S.— Young lady, I have fooled with you 
long enough. 

Whistles — Joe Blake enters at R. and seizes Alice's arms and 
binds them behind her. 

Now, Miss Marks, as soon as my boys come in we 
will go to Longstreet's camp, where we shall find a 
chaplain. We will be married, and at once start for 
England. 

Alice. — Merciful heaven ! is it possible • that you 
will stoop to such baseness ? But why not ? you 



murdered my mother, and even took the life of your 
own brother. Yet, Fred Steel, I never will marry 
you. 

Fred S. — Got (hie) lots of grit, havn't you (hie)? 
Hope you will feel better by and by. 

Alice. — Oh ! that fatal letter ; why was I so de- 
ceived ? Oh, God ! what have I done that I should 
' suffer so ? Why persecute me more ? Let me die 
rather than fall into the power of such a traitor. 

Fred S. — Shut up your head, young lady, or I 
will send you after your mother, 

Alice. — Do, for mercy sake, shoot me, and not 
torment me more. 

Enter two Guerrillas at R. with Mr. Marks a prisoner. 

Alice. — Father, father! save me. 

Fred S. — Good, good ! now I can carry out my 
plans of vengeance. 

Marks. — Once more you have me in your power ; 
once more you are sure of my blood. But there is a 
God in heaven, and He will not see you prosper. Let 
me go to my daughter. 

Fred S. — Wait a few minutes, old man, and cool 
off a little. Here, take something to steady your 
nerves. [Offers Marks his canteen.] 

Marks. — Stained with murder and treason as your 
soul is, you now seek comfort in rum. Detestable 
villain, were I free, I would kill you on the spot. 

Fred S. — Boys, bind the tiger fast, and go back 
to your post, 1 will take care of him and his gal. 

Guerrillas bind Mr. Marks, and exit at R. 



• Fred S. — Now, old man, one word with you, and 
I am done- 
All of the time hereafter Steel shows signs of being drunk. 

I sent for your gal to come and see me this even- 
ing, and she has embraced the opportunity, but don't 
care to embrace me ; in fact she treats me very un- 
becomingly. But I am willing to let all that pass if 
you will make her consent to marry me. What do 
you say? 

Marks. — If I were not bound, you would not dare 
talk to me in that way. There is the girl, let her 
answer for herself. 

Fred S.— It's all fixed up between me and the 
gal. We are going to Longstreet's camp in the 
morning and get married. 

Enter Sam Smith in haste at R. 

Sam S. — Hurry up, Colonel, and get out of this as 
soon as you can. There is a scouting party from 
Burnside's army coming directly this way. They will 
gobble us all up if we don't look out. 

Fred S. — All right, Sam, get the horses saddled 
and have the boys ready as soon as possible. [Exit 
Sam at R,] Now, old man, the quickest way I can 
get rid of you is to blow your brains out, and then I 
can get along with the gal, so prepare yourself. 

Alice. — Murderer, you dare not harm him. If 
you shoot him, you must me. 

Fred S. — Shut up, or I will fix you both. 

Enter Clara at L. 

Clara, — Oh, Fred ! my brother ! you here, and 
engaged in such work ? Don't injure them. If you 



57 

only kti3w how kind Alice has been to me since 
mother died you would not. 

Fred S. — How came you here! This is no place 
for you. 

Clara.— I came with Alice, to bear her company. 

Fred S. — You had better go out by that house 
(pointing), and stay a few moments ; I will come 
and see you soon. 

Clara. — Please let me stay with Alice ; she is my 
best friend. 

Fred S. — Go out there and stay, I tell you. [Whis- 
tles, and enter Sam S. at K.] Sam, go with my sis- 
ter out by that house, and stay till I come. [Exit 
Sam with Clara, she crying.] Now, old Marks, if 
you have anything to say, hurry up. [Points revol- 
ver at Marks. J 

Joe B. — (Pulling off false whiskers and hair) 
Fred Steel, you dare not shoot that man. 

Fred S. — Walter Greenwood ! how came you 
here ? [Points revolver at Greenwood's head.] W T hat, 
traitor in disguise? Die then. [Snaps cap.] Who 
has been tampering with my pistol? [Draw r s knife 
and rushes at Greenwood.] 

Walter G. — Fred Steel, your career of infamy is 
at an end. Die like the dog that you are. [Fires,) 
Blood streak seen from Steel's forehead to his cheek — He falls. 

Walter G, — (Kneeling to Alice) Alice, dear, 
forgive me ; it was I who wrote that letter. It was 
the only way I could see to get Fred Steel and his 
gang within reach of our men. They are coming 
now. Your brother is with them. 

Steel staggers to his feet. 



58 

Fred S. — Come on, boys, come on; here is old 
Marks' house; kill him; no, let him be; see the old 
woman; she has got blood on her face ; she is coming 
this way; go back, don't, don't touch me; see your blood 
is on my hands. Oh, kill those snakes, kill them ; I 
can't do anything, my hands are slimy with blood ; 
don't let John come any nearer, he wants to kill me. 
See the snakes, there ; he is going to jump ; don't de- 
sert me, boys; why don't you help me? Go back, 
old woman, you have followed me long enough, let 
me be. Oh, where can I go ? I can't get away ; see, 
the demons are about me ; they are trying to carry 
me off; don't touch me. Boys, boys, why don't you 
help, help ! help? Go away; see Satan has got me 
by the throat; take him off; get the blood off my 
hands. (Falls heavily.) 

Win. Marks and other Union soldiers rush in — All give thanks. 
Tableaux. 






59 



ACT IV. 

SCENE FOURTH. 
Camp Scene. 
Col. Barker. — The time has arrived, boys, when 
you are to be free of the United States service, and 
this is our last day in camp. So enjoy yourselves as 
best you can ; we are not at the front, and no fear of 
a surprise. 

Pat. O'D. — Faith, and why didn't yes tell me 
that two years ago ? 

Col. B. — A good deal has been accomplished in 
that time, Patrick. We could not spare a man then, 
so have a good time now. We shall soon get our 
discharge papers, and in the morning we will be off 
for home. 

Sam Hannibal. — Guess I won't go home; day 
don want to see me down to Knoxville. I think I 
will stay Norf. I helped quelch dis heah rebellion, 
and I 's free now, and I think I better stay free. 

Pat. — How the divil are ye a going to git a livin' 
up here ? Ye betther go back. 

Sam. — How I gwine to lib up heah ? Why I's 
gwine to eat, mostly. How you git a libin ? 

Pat. — Why work man, and earn money. 

Sam. — I'd ruver run for de Congress, den I can eat 
and not work. 



60 

Robert Davis. — Come, come, Patrick, let Sam be- 
I want to see him dance a little. 

All the boys say, "'Yes, Sam dance, we want to see you dance 
once more" — Sam- dances. 

Robert D. — There, Patrick, don't you wish you 
could do that ? 

Pat. — Faith and I can ; but do ye think I'd stoop 
so low as to dance for private soldiers? 

Robert D. — Do something, Patrick, either sing a 
song, dan :e, or do something to keep up with Sam. 

Pat sings, dances, or makes a speech. 

Pat. — Bate that if ye can, and then I will try 
again. 

All the soldiers say, "Good, good, give us some more 

Capt. Dunbar. — Col., I should think Marks, and 
Greenwood would be back soon. You know the 
Adjutant General said the discharges were all made 
out ready for the regiment. 

Col B. — I was thinking of that, Captain, and 
they must be here soon. But I suppose Greenwood 
had to step in and see Miss Marks a few minutes. 
You know he has been here only a week, and hasn't 
seen her more than fifty or sixty times. But Green- 
wood has been a faithful soldier, and I think it was 
a very wise idea to Jiave Miss Marks come North. 

Capt, D. — Walter Greenwood is every inch a sol- 
dier. I love him as a brother, and I must confess, 
Colonel', that it is hard for me to part with him. But 
to. night is our last, and I wish he would come, for I 
want to talk with him. By the way, Colonel, did 
you know that Walter was going to marry Miss 
Marks as soon as he is mustered out? 



61 

Col. B.-— Yes, Captain, and I was in hopes he 
would conclude to be married to.day, so we could 
attend the wedding. 

Enter Walter Greenwood and Air. Marks at L. 
Walter G. —Colonel, I am a little late, but I be- 
lieve a satisfactory explanation can be given. Mr. • 
Marks went with me to the Adjutant General's office, 
and you know 1 always like to tell big stories, so I 
told him about Mr. Marks' adventures during the 
war, giving him a detailed account of what he had > 
done, what he had suffered, what he had lost ; how 
• his family had been murdered— all about it. The 
General asked us to wait a few minutes, whe'n he gave 
Mr. Marks a beautiful letter of commendation. I 
tell you, Colonel, it paid for waiting. 

Col. B.— Yes, Greenwood, you are entirely ex- 
cusable. And the General has only done Mr. Marks 
justice ; he deserves it all. 

Walter G.— Colonel, I will return soon. [ExitL.] 

Marks.— Colonel, I ask for no words of praise. If 

I have been of any help in crushing this rebellion, I 

shall receive my reward day by day. Colonel, here 

are the discharge papers. [Hands Col. a package.] 

Col. R— Thanks, Mr. Marks; I almost hate to 
take them, for they are the instruments which will 
sever our band, and separate us for life. We shall see 
each other, but never again be united as a regiment. 
Adjutant, please give these to the men. 

Adjutant takes papers and gives each man an envelope. 
Sam.— Ma^sa Adjtint, hab you clone gone forgot 
all about dis chile? I tink I might hab a paper, too. 
Adj't.— Sam, you are not an enlisted soldier, al- 
though you have been faithful to every trust, 'and 



62 

Mr. Marks tells me that you were of great service to 
him in East Tennessee. You have much to feel proud 
of. Sam, you are now free. You will never be a 
slave any more. You can go and come where you 
please, and all the money you now earn is your own, 
and you have no master to take it away from you. 

Sam. — Massa Adj't, den I can earn money and buy 
farder and mudder from ole Massa Brown. 

Adj't. — Sam, your father and mother are free. 
Every slave in the South is free, and can now enjoy 
the same rights their masters do. 

Sam. — I golly, is dat so, Massa Adj't, every slave in 
de Souf free, den who am 1 ? I used to be Mr. 
Samuel Hannibal Napoleon Bonaparte Julius Caesar 
Brown, Esq.; but now I done gone loss my maiden 
name — -who is I ? 

Adj't. — That is rather a difficult question, Sam, 
and I think the best thing for you to do is to give up 
part of that name, and call yourself hereafter Mr. 
Samuel Brown. 

Sam. — Massa, how can I call myself Brown when 
I's black? ■ . 

Adj't. — O, that is your name that is all. 

Pat. — Samuel, would yes be after torminting the 
life out of the Adjitint? Didn't I tell yes a long 
time ago that yes was free? and I was in for the 
war? Now I have got my character in black and 
white, showing that the colored troops is all free en- 
tirely. 

Marks. — Colonel, I have one more request to 
make of you, We are now citizens, but I feel that 
we are under your command until we break camp. 



: 



63 

Col. B. — Any reasonable request of yours shall 
be granted, if in my power. 

Marks. — Colonel, I have been with your regiment 
only a part of its term of service, but I have learned 
to love every man in it. By a kind providence your 
regiment was instrumental in delivering my only 
<laughter from the jaws of the secession serpent, also 
in saving my life. Capt, Greenwood has made an 
arrangement with my daughter during the past week 
which will soon terminate in their marriage. My 
request, Colonel, is that they be married here in camp. 

Col. B. — The very desire of my heart, my dear 
sir. I have not seen Miss Alice since the night she was 
rescued from the Guerrillas, and never have had the 
pleasure of her acquaintance. 

Marks. — I will at once go see her, and, if I can, 
persuade her to come. I shall soon return. [Exit.] 

Enter Mr. Marks, Walter Greenwood and Miss Alice Marks. 

Marks. — ^Officers and men, please allow me to in- 
troduce my daughter, Alice. 

All salute Miss Marks. 

Col. B. — Comrades, we are about to separate and 
return to our homes. There we shall find happy 
friends to meet us. Once more we are to engage in 
the pursuits of civil life. We are comparatively few 
of the brave boys who first went to the front. Where 
are the rest? Some are sleeping their last sleep on 
Southern soil where they fell in battle ; others are 
sleeping beneath tiie very shadow of the prison pens 
where they have died by inches; some have returned 
home maimed for life, and others have died of dis- 
ease. We have much for which to be thankful, and 
as we go from here we must carry it deeply impressed 



64 

upon our hearts, and be as valient in peace as we 
have been in war. 

Marks. — Comrades, I have much that I wish to 
say, but I will not take np your time. I have lived 
to wee this happy day — lived to see my children safe 
from the very jaws of death ; lived to see the North 
and South again united. (Taking Alice's and Green- 
wood's hands.) Walter Greenwood, I freely give you 
my daughter's hand. Be true and faithful to her : 
and as the North and South have been united by fire 
and blood, so may you be united by the fire of love 
and affection, constantly thinking of Him who gave 
his blood for us all, and who proclaimed to the whole 
world: "Peace on earth; good-will toward man." 

Alice. — Officers and soldiers, ,1 can only thank 
you for your timely help to me on that dreadful 
night when I was about to suffer even worse than 
death. You have all suffered much in this terrible 
rebellion ; but do not think that all of the people 
South were traitors to the dear old flag which now so 
proudly floats throughout the entire Union. Far 
from it; many, very many have died because of their 
loyalty. And as you return to your homes carry 
with you sympathy for them all, and remember with 
pride the Loyal Mountaineers of East Tennessee ! 

Tableaux — Curtain. 



